


remember me to one who lives there

by foxinsocksinabox



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Other, one-sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxinsocksinabox/pseuds/foxinsocksinabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"God, I'm pathetic. Sittin' here waiting for his restless ghost to come 'n fucking haunt me. Having a conversation with a dead fucking dog."</p>
            </blockquote>





	remember me to one who lives there

Six days after saving the world, Eggsy Unwin takes a seat in Harry Hart's study.

His hands are shaking. They're rock steady when he wraps them around the butt of a gun, flow smoothly from stab to punch to shot when he fights. But here, as he places the glass of whiskey in front of Harry's customary seat, there is a fine tremor running through his fingers, a thrumming counterpoint to the tightness in his chest and throat. 

It is twenty minutes to midnight. When the clock strikes, it will be the seventh day since Kentucky.

Eggsy has only just gotten back from another mission. Peru, this time. Barely a week on the job and already he's travelled more than he ever did in all his twenty-four years before some posh bloke called his name outside of a police station in Holborn. He's barely been able to pause for breath ever since becoming properly inducted into the Kingsmen, the world scrambling to right itself after everything went to hell in a handbasket. 

Never mind that every time someone calls him _Galahad_ , he has to resist the urge to check behind him, for the person he's half-convinced is there but isn't.

Eggsy slumps into his chair, in a way that Harry would surely frown at if he had been here to see it. He's waited seven days.

The house is empty save for him and Mr. Pickle. The little dog is sitting calmly in his usual place beside Harry's chair, colourless dark eyes watching as Eggsy affects studious ignorance out of habit, one learned from years and years of seeing spectres just like faithful Mr. Pickle, without ever being able to tell anyone about it. 

But here, anxious anticipation is making Eggsy feel strangely fragile. The bell on Mr. Pickle's collar tinkles faintly as the dog tilts his head and Eggsy, unable to maintain his stubborn silence, speaks to him for the first time.

"D'you think he's coming back, boy?"

Mr. Pickle wags his tail. 

"God, I'm pathetic. Sittin' here waiting for his restless ghost to come 'n fucking haunt me. Having a conversation with a dead fucking dog."

A faint sound reaches his ears, like a barely audible whine. Eggsy runs his hand through his hair with an explosive sigh, and finds his eyes drawn to the newspapers with their ridiculous headlines, sliding over them to the clock again, for the third time in the space of a minute.

Twelve more minutes. 

Eggsy doesn't even know if Harry will come back here. He might go back to the place he'd died, in front of the church in Kentucky where he had lost himself so thoroughly in carnage. But Eggsy had found, over the years, that ghosts are creatures of habit. Surely Harry will come home. Mr. Pickle is here, after all, and-- well, and so is Eggsy.

"Fuck," he says, voice sounding too loud, and pushes out of the seat to get himself something to drink.

It was here that he saw the feed from Harry's glasses go dead. Perhaps it's him that has the connection to this place, not Harry. 

No. "He has to come back." One last time.

Eggsy never told him that he-- he never _told_ him.

The clock chimes.

He sucks in a sharp breath and spins around. While the last of the twelve chimes fades into silence, Eggsy waits, eyes fixed on the chair and hoping beyond hope. 

Seven hours later, he drains both glasses and tidies them away in heavy silence. Sunlight creeps through the crack in the curtains, falling across the empty chair and the shimmering form of Mr. Pickle. Eggsy can no longer bring himself to look at the little dog, knowing that Harry will never come home, never again smile that wry, amused smile. 

Even though he's had proof all his life that death is not the end, it feels like Eggsy's lost him all over again.

He pauses at the door of the study. At the edge of his hearing, a bell tinkles, but there is no other sound. Harry's house is as still and as quiet as a tomb.

"I'm sorry, boy." He pulls the door shut behind him, and tries to believe that he's shutting away his grief along with the ghost of Harry's dog. 

Mr. Pickle will wait for Harry forever, without even death to end his vigil. 

Eggsy cannot spend his life waiting. He has things to do; shoot the bad guys, save the world. Maybe, given time, he'll stop being reminded of people lost. Maybe, given time, he'll be able to answer to 'Galahad' as easily as he does 'Eggsy', without the spark of pain it gives him now. 

Maybe, given time, he'll be able to say Harry's name and not feel like the world is just a little bit darker without him in it.

**Author's Note:**

> This may become a series, I haven't decided yet. I do want to do more with an Eggsy-sees-dead-people idea, though, so! 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://foxinsocksinabox.tumblr.com) if anyone wants to talk Kingsman headcanons! :]


End file.
